We Are All Mistaken Sometimes
by J.E.McCormickGal
Summary: "Pitch?" Jack ventures, stepping just a little closer. Pitch looks up at him, and he does something Jack would never have expected in a hundred, a thousand, a million years. He smiles. "Not Pitch." He says, his voice soft and rough, nothing like the strong, clear confidence he spoke with before, before the battle and his defeat. "Pitchiner."
1. Chapter 1

**We Are All Mistaken Sometimes**

Title taken from this quote: "We are all mistaken sometimes; sometimes we do wrong things, things that have bad consequences. But it does not mean we are evil, or that we cannot be trusted ever afterward."  
― Alison Croggon

_Wow it's been a while since I've been on this site. And a while since I've been in this fandom! Well, I am here to drop off a new story for you. All three chapters will be posted off the bat. Thank you in advance to anyone who comments or favourites!_

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It's been months. Months, and not a single sign of Pitch.

North is worried that he's trying to gather his strength again. He's told them all to watch out for signs of him, for any sudden, surprise attacks.

There's been nothing until today, and even today, the encounter is not what he expects it to be.

Jack is idly wandering the forest that surrounds his lake, occasionally tapping a trunk with his staff to send frost patterns spiralling up it, happy for a while in the soft blanketed quiet, the gently falling snow, the Wind gently winding through the branches. The dark figure is easy to pick out amongst the white of the snow, and Jack narrows his eyes, his grip on his staff tightening.

A few steps closer and the figure becomes distinguishable, recognisable – Pitch. Jack is instantly on his guard, staff raised, the Wind picking up enough to howl through the trees. Pitch's figure shudders and stumbles a little. He seems extremely worse-for-wear, which is not all that surprising considering that the last they saw of him was his own Nightmares dragging him down into his lair, but it seems odd for him to be wandering the forest alone while in such a state.

"Pitch?" Jack ventures, stepping just a little closer, already preparing for conflict. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work; leave now and there won't be any trouble." Pitch looks up at him, his face properly visible for the first time, and he does something Jack would never have expected in a hundred, a thousand, a million years.

He smiles.

"Not Pitch." He says, his voice soft and rough, nothing like the strong, clear confidence he spoke with before, before the battle and his defeat. "Pitchiner."

"What?" Jack frowns, almost lowering his staff in his confusion, before hastily correcting himself, returning to his tense battle posture.

"I'm not Pitch Black." Apparently-not-Pitch says again, his expression earnest. "My name is Pitchiner. Kozmotis Pitchiner."

Jack casts distrustful eyes over him. "What are you playing at?"

Pitchiner's smile drops a little, but he holds up his hands as if in surrender. "I understand that it's hard to trust me. I share the same face and the same body as Pitch Black – but I do not share the same mind. Not truly." There's something haunted in the back of his eyes at those words. He shakes it away, the smile returning. "I want to thank you, Jack Frost."

"Thank...me?" Jack looks lost now, confused and bewildered, muttering under his breath, "What the hell is going on?"

"Yes; thank you. There were so many times you could have given in, or walked away. You didn't even have to join the fight to begin with, not really. But if you hadn't... I hate to think how that might have ended." Pitchiner shakes his head again, as if to shake the thought right from his head. "But you did; you fought against the Nightmares. You didn't give in, even when you were tempted. You were stronger than me, in that respect. It could have been so easy to stop fighting... but you didn't. For that, I respect you; for that, I thank you."

During this discourse, Jack had lowered his staff; it now hangs loosely at his side, while he stares disbelievingly at the man in front of him. He takes the time to look at Pitch, or Pitchiner, or whoever this man is, really look at him. He looks haggard, tired, weak; he's leaning on a tree for support, is shaking, subtly, perhaps from cold or perhaps from exhaustion. His eyes are no longer golden; it is hard to make out their colour, from the distance, but they no longer hold the sinister glow they once had. His complexion still holds a shadow of the grey pallor from before, but he no longer seems a walking shade. His expression is not cold, or cruel, or calculating; it is open, it is honest.

It isn't Pitch Black. It's visible in his eyes, his stance, audible in his tone – this isn't the Nightmare King.

Jack isn't sure what to do. North told them to watch out for Pitch, act as necessary, and report to the others; but this isn't the attack Jack has been anticipating. For a moment he just stands and thinks, still considering Pitchiner; the man is watching him, seemingly waiting for Jack to do or say something.

"I need to take you to the Pole." Jack says eventually. Pitchiner nods, making no protest. Jack frowns, still wondering about the possibility of this being a trick – but it seems unlikely, to him. The earnest honesty in his voice when he had spoken would be hard to fake. He hopes, not only for his own reasons, but for Pitchiner's sake, that this isn't a trick.

"I am sorry that it is so hard for you to trust me, Jack." Pitchiner says softly, obviously reading Jack's conflict. Jack isn't quite sure what to do with that, so he pulls out a snowglobe from the pocket of his hoodie and mutters "North Pole" to it before throwing it down. The portal opens, and Jack looks to Pitchiner, gesturing with his staff.

"You first." He says.

He watches as Pitchiner stumbles through the portal – he doesn't seem quite able to stay steady on his feet – and then sighs as he follows close behind.


	2. Chapter 2

For a few minutes, their entrance to the Pole is unnoticed, undisrupted as they step into the main room. Pitchiner moves closer to the hearth while Jack hangs back, glancing around for North. He spots a few elves and walks over to them. They look up at him, the bells on their hats jingling.

"I need you to go and get North. It's important." He tells them, nudging them on their way with his staff. They make saluting gestures and run off. Jack looks back to Pitchiner, who is huddled near the fire, warming his hands and staring into the roaring flames. The warm colour of the firelight flickering across his features lends him some stronger colour and highlights the softness of his smile even as it emphasises the angles of his face. He looks over at where Jack is reclining back against one of the beams.

"I suppose you're not so fond of the fire?" He says, a joking note to his voice. Jack can't help a quiet chuckle.

"Not so much." He replies. "The heat makes me sick."

Pitchiner smiles and nods, turning back to the fireplace.

"It's been... a very long while since I've been near a fireplace. A proper, lit, fireplace. I hadn't really noticed until now, but," Pitchiner laughs softly, but it's not entirely a humorous sound, "I've really missed it."

He falls silent and Jack tilts his head, crosses his arms, and regards him thoughtfully.

"When was the last time you had a fireplace?" Jack asks.

"A long, long time ago." Pitchiner murmurs. "Thousands and thousands of years."

There's a sadness lingering in his expression, a sort of melancholy, almost longing, almost nostalgic. Jack opens his mouth, about to say something, when North makes a loud appearance.

"Jack! Elves say you need me, what is – Pitch!" North's friendly smile immediately clouds over to a guarded expression and he pulls out his swords. Jack leaps forward to stand in front of him, in his way of Pitchiner. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought him here!" Jack interrupts North's hostile, growling voice. "I found him in the woods. He's changed; he's not Pitch Black anymore."

"I have eyes, Jack, I can see that that is Pitch." North says to the younger Guardian.

"But it's not, not if you really look. He's _different_." Jack implores.

Pitchinier is watching tensely, frozen and looking warily at North. Jack was not quick to fight without first being provoked; North, however, obviously has no problems with charging right into a fight without giving him a chance to talk. He does, however, seem willing to at least listen to Jack.

"What makes you so sure?" North asks.

"If you give him a chance to talk, you'll see." Jack insists. "I didn't trust him at first either, North, but I don't think it's a trick. I don't think he could fake this."

"You do not know Pitch as we do, Jack." North says. "He is very good at tricks."

"Well not this time!" Jack says, standing firm. "At least give him a chance to show you himself."

North sighs and glares distrustfully at Pitchiner. He doesn't sheath his swords, but he lowers them.

"I must notify others." He mutters, and then brandishes a sword in Pitchiner's direction. "If you try anything, we will not hesitate to fight. Jack," North fixes him with a firm look, "watch him. And as I say – no hesitation. "

"Alright." Jack says, nodding solemnly. North casts another look in Pitch's direction before turning to activate the Northern Lights beacon. Jack sighs, letting himself relax and looking to deflate, before he turns and ventures closer to Pitchiner.

"Thank you, Jack." Pitchiner says, smiling gratefully.

"Don't worry about it." Jack mutters. "Just... don't make me regret sticking up for you, alright?"

"I won't." Pitchiner assures him sincerely. He looks at Jack for a few moments. "You are a good boy, Jack. You have a good heart."

Jack scoffs quietly and kicks at the rug. Pitchiner puts a hand on his shoulder, warm from the fire, and bends slightly to try and catch Jack's eyes.

"I mean it, Jack; you could have attacked me in the forest, you didn't have to listen to me, you most certainly had no reason to stand up for me just then. It takes a strong person to stand up to their friends. Your strength is truly admirable." He says. Jack briefly meets his eyes, before huffing a quiet, dismissive laugh, brushing Pitchiner's hand off his shoulders.

"Shut up." He mutters, but the quirk of his lips and the light in his eyes shows the gratitude hidden under the false brusqueness. Pitch smiles as him and turns back to the fire as Jack summons a wind current to take him up into the wooden beams that support the ceiling, reclining there with one leg hanging over the edge and his staff tucked into the crook of his arm.

It doesn't take very long for the other Guardians to arrive, one by one. Bunnymund appears first, North beside him, a thunderous expression on his face.

"What the heck do you think you're playing at?" Bunnymund growls. Jack immediately sits up. "Whatever you're planning, whatever you're thinking of doing, it's not going to work. Get your shadowy arse out of here."

Bunnymund throws a boomerang in Pitchiner's direction, but Jack is quick to swoop down and knock it off course with his staff. Bunnymund turns his glare to him.

"And you, what on Earth were you thinking? Do you not remember anything of what we went through at Easter?" He demands, furious.

"Of course I remember." Jack replies, tense and prepared for Bunnymund to make another attack. "But this _isn't_ Pitch Black, Bunny, he's-"

"Like _hell_ he ain't."

"He's different-"

"_He is not._" Bunnymund roars. "You think he's changed, Jack? He's the _Nightmare King_ – people like that don't change. You're stupid if you believe so."

Jack bristles, gripping tighter to his staff. "Anyone can change, Bunnymund."

"Oh yeah, Frostbite?" Bunnymund draws himself up, obviously preparing to retort again, before a ball of dreamsand smacks into his shoulder. When Bunnymund whips around, Sandman is floating behind him, a frown on his face, and he makes a firm gesture that obviously means _'Enough!'_.

"You surely can't be-" Bunnymund starts, but Sandman presses a firm finger to his lips and stares him down. Eventually the Pooka relents, grumbling. Sandman drifts over to float in front of Jack, who is shaking, and places gentle hands on his shoulders. A question mark forms in sand above his head.

'_What happened, Jack?'_

"I found him when I was wandering around the forest, down in Burgess. At first I thought he might be planning to try something, but he didn't. I've talked to him, Sandy, he's not Pitch, not really. You've gotta at least give him a chance."

"How do we know that he's not just manipulating you?" Bunnymund spits out. Jack tenses again.

"Because he's tried to manipulate me before, and this _isn't that_." Jack says. There's a tenseness to the atmosphere; Jack doesn't talk often about the blank spots the Guardians don't know about. It's not necessarily new information, that Pitch had tried to manipulate Jack onto his side, but it's uncomfortable, and hangs in the air around them.

Sandman pats Jack's shoulders soothingly, and floats around him towards Pitchiner.

Since the boomerang was aimed in his direction, Pitchiner has been watching the proceedings from a defensive posture, obviously preparing for more projectiles to be launched at him. He relaxes a little now that Bunnymund has been at least somewhat subdued, and straightens as Sandman comes to be hovering in front of him, perceptive eyes looking him over.

"Sandman. I'm sorry." He says softly, speaking for the first time in front of the other Guardians. He holds out a hand, in a gesture of peace. "Kosmotis Pitchiner." He introduces himself.

Bunnymund scoffs, but Sandman simply regards Pitchiner for a moment longer before shaking the offered hand, a small nod and smile showing his approval. Pitchiner looks obviously relieved at the acceptance, returning the smile. Sandman turns from him to float towards the others – North's swords are away, now, and Toothiana has arrived and is hovering behind him, the quiet hum of her wings and the three or four small fairies beside her filling the quiet – and then an exclamation mark appears above his head, and he points over to where the Moon is shining through the skylight.

"Manny!" North exclaims. "Is good thing you are here." The Guardians all move to gather around the moonbeam, and don't notice Pitchiner's expression as he also starts to step closer.

"Man in the Moon..." He murmurs, and the Guardians turn to stare at him. Pitchiner steps forward into the light of the moonbeam, looks up, and _grins_. "My old friend, it has been too long."

For a moment he stands there, staring up at the Moon, smiling as they presumably communicate.

"I am sorry for the trouble I have caused you." He murmurs eventually. "I made a grave mistake." There a few more moments of silence to the others where a reply must be. "I must congratulate you on your Guardians. They are certainly doing a much better job than I ever did."

"Wait, what?" Bunnymund snaps, interrupting. "What are you talking about?"

This time, the Moon speaks to all of them. Sandman, remembering the Moon's inability to speak to Jack, starts to translate what he can into dreamsand images.

"_Far before any of you were Chosen, the galaxies existed in a Golden Age. The Golden Armies hunted down and imprisoned all Fearlings, freeing the galaxies of their fear-mongering ways. Kozmotis Pitchiner was Lord High General of the Galaxies, the leader of these Golden Armies."_

"You've gotta be kidding me." Bunnymund muttered.

"I volunteered to guard their prison, to ensure they never escaped." Pitchiner said, continuing the tale. "It... wasn't a pleasant job. It was lonely, and I spent centuries listening to the Fearlings' whisperings. But then, one day-" Pitchiner breaks off for a moment, gathering himself, "One day, they tricked me into accidently releasing them. They possessed me, took control of me... I lost my mind. That was when I became Pitch Black."

Bunnymund looks incredulous, and North looks sceptical; Toothiana and Sandman seem thoughtful; Jack listens with interest.

"It wasn't until your most recent victory that I remembered myself. The Fearlings were angry at me for failing them; that was why they gathered. Once you stopped the children believing in me, I was no longer of use to them. They released their hold on me, intending to punish me – I do not know what they planned to do after – but in that moment, I was simply glad that I had not won – they had not won." Pitch smiles, and there is genuine relief in his expression. "I thought, for a moment, that I could at least be comforted that my own failures would not mean their triumph; that there were others, far stronger than I, who would not give in, would not cease fighting, who would not make my mistakes, who would protect the world as I could not. In that moment, you gave me hope – and that hope is what saved me."

Jack looks over to Bunnymund, who now looks far more shocked than distrustful. He seems conflicted, now, between his belief that someone like Pitch could not possibly be changed, and his utter faith in the emotion that is his centre.

"I have not been myself in millennia; I have not had my mind, my thoughts, my memories. And so I thank you, I am eternally grateful to you, not only for protecting the children of the world in a way I could not and defeating the Fearlings, but also for returning me to myself." There is the utmost sincerity in his tone.

"_I was afraid you were to be lost forever, Kozmotis. I am glad that is not the case._"

"Are we really meant to believe you ever did anything like we do?" Bunnymund challenges. With the word of the Man in the Moon on his side, they can be sure that Pitchiner truly is who he claims, that his story is true and that Pitch Black no longer truly exists, but Bunnymund is, as always, stubborn to the last.

Pitch's smile drops, and he shakes his head solemnly. "No. You do far more than I ever did. You _give_ more to the world than I ever did. I simply tried to hold the fear at bay; but you, you give the children hope and joy and wonder. Perhaps it is good to be without fear, but to also be joyful is far better. The best thing I can do for the children is to stay out of their lives. I cannot fight against the Fearlings as you can; I have nothing to give. I am a soldier, but I am a soldier from another age, a soldier with many weaknesses, and I am not needed now."

"You could be useful yet." North mutters. "You have intimate knowledge of the Nightmares, no?"

"I do." Pitchiner nods grimly. He does not look glad of this knowledge – no doubt most of it comes from his years as Pitch Black.

"Then your information will be valuable to us." North says decidedly, clapping Pitchiner on the shoulder. Pitchiner looks somewhat surprised at this expression of comradeship, but eventually smiles all the same. Bunnymund continues to scowl at him, and Toothiana seems unwilling to venture much closer – her mini-fairies are chirping wearily as they watch Pitch from over her shoulder – but Sandman smiles, and Jack grins.

It's the first step on a long road. It's going to take a long time for them all to completely accept Pitchiner amongst their ranks, even longer for them to trust him completely, and friendship may be a step that never comes.

But it's a step, and that's a start.


	3. Chapter 3

It is because of Jack's moments of insight that Pitchiner tends to linger in places he knows Jack will easily find him. Of all the Guardians it is easily the winter spirit that he's most comfortable with.

Winter is both the best and the worst time to see families and as he watches, a young girl easily only six or seven is running into her father's arms. He's been gone for a week, Pitchiner observed, working in a place far from here and unable to return every night.

Pitchiner's expression clouds and he wonders; if he had returned to his daughter with some level of frequency, would he have been able to quell his own fears? As if on cue, he feels the wind pick up and smiles weakly at having been caught brooding. "Hello Jack."

"Hey there, Kozmo." Jack grins as he drops gracefully by Pitchiner's side, the teasing nickname rolling off his tongue no matter how often Pitchiner has told him not to use it. He arranges his long limbs into a loose cross-legged posture, following Pitchiner's line of sight. "You're watching the kids again, huh?" He asks, his smile softening.

Pitchiner shakes his head fondly at the nickname, breaking his line of sight from the girl and her father. "It passes the time. I never saw the results of keeping the Fearlings at bay, but I can see their happiness now." He glances at Jack for a moment, taking in the sloppy posture and the smile. It's always a comfort to see the smile no matter how distant the antagonism is and how their friendship has grown.

"It's good to see, sometimes. Just to remind yourself you're doing something right." Jack murmurs, and his tone is knowing. "But you know, there's no point on dwelling on things you can't change." He can guess, easily, what had made Pitchiner's expression cloud. They've talked before, about Pitchiner's family, and every now and then Jack will catch him like this, watching the families of soldiers, or families where one parent is often away for long periods of time, and Jack can practically hear him thinking.

Pitchiner frowns slightly, not sure how he feels that Jack works him out so easily. A part of him is comforted by the knowledge that somebody can read him. "It's not easy to put aside something that was so important to you," He replies at length, aware there is a slight bitterness in his tone. He sighs, rubbing his closed eyes with one hand as if that can push away the sadness. "But you are right..."

"I know it's not easy." Jack assures. He's had his own share of brooding; watching older brothers playing with their younger sisters, wishing he could, somehow, have watched his own sister grow up. It's not quite the same - his death was no true fault of his own - but he knows how it feels to wish you could change the past. "But isn't it better to remember the better times, than think about what you can't change?"

Pitchiners expression is impossible to read for a long time as he considers this, opening his eyes to watch the father and daughter go inside and out of sight. "It is…" He finally agrees, watching the house as if he can somehow still see them. "It is." He repeats. "And I do… I try to." He smiles again at last, trying to shake off the heavy thoughts. "I'm sorry Jack, I didn't intend to lose myself in my thoughts..."

"Ay, you think too much, all of you." Jack mutters, rolling his eyes and smiling. He knocks his shoulder against Pitchiner's, and his expression briefly becomes serious again. "We all make mistakes. And yours was a pretty bad one. But it's all worked out for the best in the end; just focus on that."

Pitchiner smiles warmly and nods, standing and dusting some of the snow off his clothes. Sit too still around Jack Frost… "I have been; the world is a good place, the Guardians are winning."

"With your help." Jack reminds him. The Fearlings are more unpredictable without their leader, but Pitchiner's knowledge of them has been valuable in helping the Guardians defeat them whenever they make an appearance. A wind current picks him up, holding him a few feet above the ground and sending a flurry of snow into the air. "Now, come on, enough of this serious talk. Lighten up and have some fun, old man." Jack's signature grin is back as he scoops up a ball of snow and throws it at Pitchiner. He laughs, darting off, the wind buffeting more snow at Pitchiner in encouragement.

With his help; a nice thought. Pitchiner isn't surprised by the snowball but doesn't try to move out of the way, throwing an arm up over his face to shield his eyes from some of the snow. He shakes his head fondly as he joins in. It is fun, but he still feels like he's simply indulging a child. It's strange how that helps sift away the melancholy.

Jack continues the game until he's satisfied that Pitchiner's spirits are lifted."Well, I better be off. Snow days to bring, havoc to wreak, all that." He grins. "North'll want to talk to you soon, he mentioned there being new activity we need to sort out. See you around, Kosmo." With another laugh and a wave, he's off, the wind carrying him effortlessly away. Pitchiner shakes his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips, and brushes the snow from his clothes, turning to go his own way.


End file.
